Mr. Big Stuff (More Than Money), page 1
Mr. Big Stuff
L. Nicole
Copyright © 2021 by L. Nicole
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This book contains sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.
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Contents
Title
Blurb
1. Kiefer
2. Violet
3. Kiefer
4. Violet
5. Kiefer
6. Violet
7. Kiefer
8. Violet
9. Kiefer
10. Violet
11. Kiefer
12. Violet
13. Kiefer
14. Violet
15. Kiefer
Epilogue
Epilogue
Free Book
About the Author
Also by L. Nicole
Mr. Big Stuff
By:
L. Nicole
• Kiefer Marks.
• Rich
• Chiseled Abs.
• My next-door neighbor for the last year.
• The hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
That pretty much sums up the guy I'm in love with.
And oh yeah, he’s also the guy I’ve barely spoken to.
The thing is, I’m not his type.
I’m the town librarian.
I’m way too curvy—and much too shy.
They call him Mr. Big Stuff around town and I’m pretty sure the nickname is all about what he’s packing in those gray sweatpants he rocks when he goes to the gym.
(I go to the bakery across from the gym and eat a doughnut--while waiting for him to come out all sweaty and hot.)
I watch him from a distance, daydreaming and putting his face in every fantasy that I can imagine. You would think that wouldn’t be very many for a virginal introvert who gets tongue-tied around the opposite sex, but I read a lot of romance books and trust me, Kiefer Marks is the star in some very hot dreams.
It’s all harmless and never going anywhere.
Until he kisses me and I start to believe in dreams....
Chapter One
Kiefer
I silently count off my second lap as I flip in the water and head back. I’m in the zone, not even thinking about swimming. Instead, I’m impassively thinking about my day, hearing the water rush by, as I pump my body through it. The heat of the Florida morning sun is already bearing down on me, making the cool water sluicing off my working muscles feel good. I usually start my day off going to the gym—which is one of my favorite places to be. It helps to clear my head and gives me a great way to get focused. This morning, however, the line at the county clerk’s office was way too long, and I had to renew my business license, so I had to stick it out. Luckily for me, the chick at the counter was trying to get my attention and went so far as to pull me from the line and work on my stuff first, as if it was a rush job. It wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to complain. Maybe it made me an asshole, but I didn’t take her up on her offer for a drink after she got off work either.
It makes me sound like a cocky asshole, but I get a lot of attention from women, even if it’s not what I’m looking for. I’m not a forever kind of guy and that seems to be what all the women want these days.
The gym helps me clear my mind and steady my hand for long hours at my shop—tattooing people. I’m damn proud of my business. I’ve created a name for myself. Now, people come from all around to book an appointment, even with plenty of shops in surrounding cities. My arms and hands need strength while my mind needs clarity to work as I do—which makes the gym essential for me. Some people need coffee to wake up, and I need the gym, the burn in my muscles, the met goals of pushing myself further each time. Starting my day being productive sets the tone for the rest of it. That said, the pool does work in a pinch.
Especially today.
Today, I’m enjoying myself by watching my new neighbor eye-fuck me from over the top of a book. She thinks she’s being sneaky, as if I can't tell her beautiful, round, blue eyes are trailing my movements. The heat in her stare arouses something inside of me that I haven’t felt before. Instead of being annoyed, as I usually am, I find myself eating up her brazen attention. I mask my face in the determination of focusing on my laps instead of watching her lick her lips as she looks over my wet body.
She’s new to the complex, but I’ve noticed her. She has a flare that’s all her own. When I walked out today for my swim, she was sunbathing and reading, completely lost in that and oblivious to what was going on around her. She didn’t wear the skimpy bikinis that’s the fashion today—and as a man I can definitely appreciate them. Instead, she’s wearing a fifties style bikini, that covers more than most shorts and shirts worn today. Something about it, however, had my cock standing up and paying attention. The top showed off her breasts perfectly, while making me itch to pull it down, so I could see what was hidden from view. I watch as her round ass jiggles and makes me groan as she stands up to apply more lotion to her creamy white legs. She has the most fucking delicious curves that I’ve seen. The kind a man would grab and hold onto while fucking her hard. It’s more than that, though. She’s shy. I can tell that in the way I can see her blush, despite the way the Florida sun has already heated her skin. Then, there’s the way she self-consciously tugs at the hem of the suit, like it might cover another inch of her exposed body.
The first time I saw her, she had just moved in and was coming out of her apartment, flustered and in a hurry. I knew I wanted her, instantly appreciating the curvaceous form under the baby-blue, flowered sundress. The color made her eyes pop as she looked at me like a deer in headlights.
That was weeks ago, and I still want her so much that I can taste it. Her innocence is the only thing stopping me from pursuing her. A man like me doesn’t deserve someone like her, someone so pure. I would taint her and can’t be the one responsible for taking her innocence. She’s very clearly a virgin, you’d have to be blind not to read the signs. That means the man that pops her cherry should be the kind of guy willing to give her the fairytales you can see shining in her eyes—the happily-ever-after and forever and ever kind.
That’s not who I am.
Rolling over to my back, giving her a good view of my wet abs, I feign that I’m too busy to notice her looking my way as she pretends to read. Even though I should leave it be and stop playing into it, I don’t. I continue on with this show for her, enjoying her attention. She’s like a breath of fresh air. And I’m loving her eyes on me way too much.
Eventually, however, I know I have to call an end to it. I have clients arriving at my shop soon and need to shower and head out.
Swimming ever so slowly to the stairs, I make a slow walk over to her, knowing my trunks aren’t hiding anything as the fabric clings to my body. I’m hard as a rock, and I like that she can see it. Hell, not to brag, but I know my cock is bigger than most. It will probably scare the virgin blonde and frighten her away—which is probably the best thing for both of us.
The towels happen to be right next to her on a table and that gives me the perfect excuse to be near her. The closer I get, the more she covers her face with her book, as if unaware of my presence. It makes me smile to see how affected she is by having me close. When I stand next to her, her breathing becomes audibly ragged, quickening so that her chest heaves. Her nipples are pebbled against her bathing suit and they’re large, about the size of a nickel and it’s all I can do to keep from groaning as I imagine sucking them into my mouth.
I grab up a soft cotton towel and shake out my hair, which had grown a bit longer on the top, splashing cool water droplets in her direction. She gasps and finally her book drops down and I get all of her close up. Our gazes lock and I’m a bastard, but I push my luck even further.
“Sorry, about that,” I lie.
“It’s…um…uh… fine…I don’t… mind you getting me wet.” Instantly her cheeks burn as what she said hits her. I laugh, I can’t keep from it. Her hands come up and she hides her face from me, making me laugh harder. She peeks out, mortified, giving me a wide eye look.
I dry my body and my hair before I lean over casually, flipping her book right side up in her hands, giving her a wink before I head toward my apartment. I shake my head as I wonder if she was redder after I pointed out she’d been pretending to read with her book upside down, or if the comment she made about me making her wet did it?
It might possibly have been a tie. I find myself regretting that I couldn’t see if she was really wet.
And maybe taste her sweetness…
Chapter Two
Violet
I can't pry my eyes away from the rippling muscles in his back, taking in the way his wet trunks cling to his perfect ass. He’s so hot. Those words are kind of lame, but it’s true. I’ve read over one hundred books since I first saw him and the sole reason is because I keep putting his face to the heroes in the book, imagining it
In none of my stories did I make a complete fool of myself. I can’t believe I just told him that I like that he made me wet. I mean he did, but that wasn’t what he was talking about, and it was nothing I wanted to confess. Completely mortified, I look away to stare at the words in my book, page in my hands, not taking in a single word until I’m sure he’s out of sight. How long had I been reading my book upside down? Ugh! Putting the book completely over my face, I can't push away the absolute embarrassment.
Way to go Violet!
“I don’t mind you getting me wet. Ugh, I could just die,” I mutter to myself, “I’m such a moron!” I just made a fool of myself to my new neighbor. It wasn’t just any neighbor, either. It had to be the one that keeps starring in all of my secret fantasies. The way he’d looked at me when I said it will only fuel those fantasies, too. I thought I saw heat in his eyes. I was probably imagining it, however. I mean I’m definitely not his type—of that I can be sure. I’m probably just seeing something that I want to be there.
Moving here from Georgia four months ago may not have been the smartest idea. It was a spur of the moment decision that I made straight out of school. Twin Bridges opened a new library and was looking for someone fresh out of school to run it. I submitted my name on a whim and was rewarded when a council member contacted me personally, offering me the job.
I jumped at the chance, using the nest egg my grandmother left me in her will to move to Florida and get away from Georgia—well, my mother really.
I'm an embarrassment to her and have been for as long as I can remember. She never fails to make it clear that I’m a disappointment. I’m not—and never will be—a size zero or gorgeous like she is. My mother was Miss America. It’s beneath her to have an overly fluffy, klutz like me for a daughter. Yet, that’s exactly who I am.
I could never hope to be like my mother, and honestly I never want to be. My mother wears more makeup than I’d buy in ten years. She’s beautiful all made up, but her eyes are cold. I’d like to think that I have a different kind of beauty—more like the characters I read about. The ones that chose to be kind, the ones that had a loving heart that shined. Not someone willing to tear their own daughter down for her weight or whatever else that didn’t match her expectations.
Maybe Kiefer would like me if I were a model? With all mother’s trainers I could…no…not an option. As popular as he seems to be, I’d been around for a couple of months and not once has one of the women vying for his attention seemed to catch it. There’s no way that I could hope to, especially if they couldn’t.
A nasally laugh cuts into my thoughts. Another neighbor, Angel, has slipped into one of the chairs beside me. Her laugh seems to be directly pointed toward me.
“You’re practically foaming at the mouth over Mr. Big Stuff,” she snorts, rubbing on tanning oil. In the Florida sun, that wasn’t the best, but I figure she doesn’t need me pointing that out. Her comment pulls me away from worrying about her skin, though.
“Who?”
“Kiefer. The guy you were talking to? That’s his nickname,” she says. “Mr. Big Stuff.”
“Why is he called that?”
I put my book down in my bag, while pulling out a bathing suit cover and slipping it on. Shielding myself from people like her is a gut reaction. Hiding my body is kind of an armor that helps to protect me from people who are thoughtless or mean. I don’t know this woman, but she’s sending off vibes that the bullied child who lives deep inside of me recognizes at once.
“Oh you haven’t heard?’ she asks, patronizingly, “Because he has a huge cock which happens to be pierced.” She gives me a snarky grin, waiting for my reaction.
“Pierced?” I whisper. I truly hadn’t meant to ask that out loud, but I was trying to envision it and couldn’t quite get the imagery pulled into my head.
“Yeah, and he is freaking huge.”
“Uh…” I don’t know how to respond to that. I mean I saw the outline of his cock in his swim trunks, and I can attest to the fact he is huge, but that doesn’t seem like something I should actively talk about. That feels wrong.
She laughs, but the sound doesn’t have humor. “He’d tear up a fat little virgin like you,” she says, while plopping on her sunglasses. Then, she lays back into the chair like she was over the conversation. I’m grateful for that, actually. But I don’t get off that easy. She pulls down her sunglasses, resting them at the bottom her nose, and delivers one final jab—before ignoring me completely. “You can’t handle him, so you might as well forget whatever fantasy you have cooking in that head of yours.”
I grab my stuff and start walking away. I act as if I don’t have a care in the world. I refuse to let her see me upset. I walk away as casually as I can. Even while I’m doing it, I hate it. I should slap her. I’m mad at myself that I don’t. Years of being conditioned by my mother just makes me react like this automatically.
It makes me so damn mad at myself.
“Maybe next time,” I murmur sadly to myself. Angel is cut from the same cloth as my mother and because of that, I know there will definitely be a next time.
Chapter Three
Kiefer
Three Days Later
The monthly community barbecue is something I absolutely hate attending since I’m stuck making half-assed small talk over a beer with people taking advantage of the free booze and catered dinner. Unbeknownst to everyone having a good time, I own the whole apartment complex, putting on this dinner so that they feel management values their residence with it.
Winning the lottery a few years back gave me the chance to have an income outside of tattooing. I won a really big lottery, as in the second biggest in lotto history. That made me a billionaire before I was even thirty.
I made a decision when I won. I didn’t want fame or to have a bunch of pretend friends following me all the time because they wanted to use me. So, I made sure that I went to great lengths to hide that I won—including uprooting my entire life. That’s how I decided to move here; no one knew me in Two Bridges. All I was to the people in this town was a tattoo shop owner or the gym rat with a big dick. The latter part was spread through gym locker room chatter. The showers made for a lot of gossip fodder and apparently men can be as bad as old women talking about shit they shouldn’t talk about.
I move around the crowd, talking here and there as needed. Mostly I’m listening if anyone has any complaints about the complex. It helps me to understand what the tenants want when they don’t know who management really is. Happy tenants are important, and this party makes that easier. People talk easily in front of me. Part of that is because even the staff here doesn’t know they work for me. I used my attorney’s office as a representative and that way it kept my name and face out of anything to do with this place.
When I see Angel headed right for me, I sigh inwardly.
I can't stand that woman.
It’s like her ugliness makes my entire body grimace and shy away from her. Not only did her personality match her sour face, but she’s persistent to the point of annoying the piss out of me, even though I make it as clear as possible I’m not interested. She would be somewhat attractive if she weren’t purposely mean to everyone.
I hate bullies.
I look around for Violet and can't see her mingling or on the edge with a book like she normally is.
“Hi Kiefer,” Angel says, as if she’s trying to purr my name, but really sounding like she needs a visit with a nose doctor. Then again, I’m not sure her voice could be any more nasally, even if she had a cold.
